


Kampyle of Eudoxus

by ThereminVox



Series: Memento Mori [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 02:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox
Summary: Juxtaposing journal entries from Jeremiah as Xander, progressing to just moments after the spray takes effect.





	Kampyle of Eudoxus

* * *

**[Innominate]**

_The concept of time eludes me. _

* * *

**[23 September; 20:26]**

_Rewatching The Knick has oft to lance with smarting reminder. In summary, Thackery’s mentor commits suicide after another failed surgery (on a railroad of failures). I wouldn’t desire to dismiss it as a cliché or trite exaggeration/stereotype. I’ll ever be a staunch advocate for trial-and-error. In fact, we should never endeavour wholly to the fractured philosophy of striving towards perfectionism._

_Omissions, errors, faults, misprisions. All are congruent to covet and encompass the fervid humus. To make replete a compost of ripe, organic forces conducive to the momentum of curiosity which assists in ushering forward innovation, wisdom and development (personal, professional, or otherwise). _

_Notwithstanding, the temerity you cumber interminably is paltry in measure without incessant needling of external forces acting as arbitrary yet persuasive arbiters. They are instrumental in the dynamics of meritocracy and metrics of competence. Performance alone heartens the illiberal beast of austere scrutiny. Where visceral, unabashed spirits of inquiry are penanced for seemly contradictions of faculty, rathe and rash jesters care for naught of discovery and tuition but the peanut-shelled pennies cast at their bare, begrimed feet._

_For the real summary, albeit clearly a regressed era, the swelling abscess of defeat is a hovering, oppressive mirror. Even in our modern, advanced epoch, where resource and possibility abound in cornucopia, the fellow feeling of always being one step behind the curve, immediate to invention yet curbed by spectres of indomitable distance. In consequence, our perceived essence of continued survival, escorted in kind by striding travails, can be epitomised by an endless, merciless struggle of journey where two pleading extensions of revelation and cessation are denied promise of destination._

_Concerning myself to subjection, to conversant occlusion of audience, whittling the frail conscience to mosaic enmity, I could never instill a tenet of aptitude to a punishing vital task such as that of medical praxis; however, it is with no disbelief that dedicating a lifetime’s worth of distending turmoil, forfeiting every squeeze and sieve of sanity to a single discipline, with virtually no positive return of investment, will ultimately resign oneself to a penultimate nail in the coffin._

_Second to last; for the final, most arresting, variable has since ejected itself keenly to oblivion._

* * *

<strike>To Ecco:</strike>

_Miscommunication. Mistranslated silence. Debilitating byproducts made amplified when text and lifeless imprints of physicality are the excluding, impersonal exchange of rapport._

_To say “I understand” through trite, lyrical figures of speech is patronising and redundant. The solemn plea for physical intimacy sounds an alarm of urgency but there is no manner of extramundane means to convey a credible sense of thought transference._

_ Neither party will be granted the pleasure of emotional transparence, even when sentiment is readily revealed by the limited agency of transmission we contend with. _ _The subconscious mind will always bear favour to mystery and, as such, these dormant thoughts are ineffable. _

_Any attempt to express my discernment and chemistry will be a venture of arrant futility._

* * *

**[27 September; 22:53]**

_At times, I ponder the necessity of emotion to be a solitary pursuit in deliverance. Gravely criminal by public perusal, determined to felony by those given to divulge pandemic dispensing of spirited sentiment. Only ignominy is apt to summon at the invocation of passion as betrayed to concerting audience. A pregnable sensitivity of expression made contused by the slightest graze of sight or touch._

_Hereafter conjures a wraith of entreaty retreating passion to abiding recess. The ache to share fellow feeling, purged to refuse and moil. Such is the indelible residuum of reluctance to embark on the quest towards emotive exorcism. To circumvent the indignity of bereaved jubilance, duress of secrecy prevails as a boon of proxy. At expense of consonance and catharsis, compulsion to impart gaiety yields to phrenic constipation. Eventually, the blood sours at all emphatic whispers of loathsome intimation. Sweltering sough of insouciance and callous repudiation is all to await the fervent thespian upon wrested stage._

* * *

**[31 October; 17:41]**

_By dithering loom, brume and grume, it is with great sorrow, I fear... the hour of ghouls is upon us. _

* * *

**[26 November; 13:01 PM]**

_**RE:** Née Xanthippe_

_For a brief spell, I was unwell._

_Infirmity was besotted by me and I by its motorised freckles. Even now, as I writ this (admitted) tinsel, the pneuma that binds academia and artistry is interminably constrained to personify living bodies respired by florid/fluid orthonym._

_By existing policies that seem ever to belie reflecting paradox of subversive constants and variables, this novelty of manufacture has since expired to a dimming strobe of discontinuity in extremis. This infernal marriage of (tumid)(termagant) diction is but a contradiction of clarity to the mare’s nest of aspiration and reason._

_I am not a product of my environment nor do I intend to proclamation, verifying claim to intensive, cognate brood of thigmonastic embryos from which each operator riddles displaced within the inverse denominator of fuscous fractions._

_Natheless, a sudden, yet fleet surge of ire begets by strutting mnemonic. Susurrations: nous noosed to pillory; misprision of opportunity._

_It has come to my remembrance, a certain jilted numen of fructuous character._

_To whom it may concern: a mysterious red herring, distracting clue of whom deigns to implore a wrest of divided attention. Heuristic it may bind, if only to seek and divine. If only to extract essence of something roiled yet refined. As equal and opposite in eldritch obscurity as reaction is to any discernible force of nature._

_Beacons of homogeneity > balance of mind._

* * *

**[21 December; 00:45]**

_Asthenia does not begin to describe…_

_  
My reflection deigns to be wrenched from me. _

_  
It is for this reason alone, my dealings with Wayne Enterprises have been met by hiatus. _

  
_ The ancient tremor of which thou hast staunchly denied egress has developed conscience, burrowing to nescient surface with tremulous omen._

_  
Although I desiderate it so, it is not dysthymia, of which I have experienced and exhausted preceding this hackneyed coming-of-age diegesis._

  
_ Neither it may be loneliness, abandonment nor desolation when the ilk of sapien cumbers my acuity, my empressement, to a cadaver’s estate of destitution._

_  
Nativity possesses the spirit of Thursday yet the woes of Wednesday’s precession renders mortality of nous through an ineludible channel of dire straits. _

_The rubber, radioactive leather of bananas taunt me._

_There is a room from which futile escape is the voyeur’s delight._

_Apertures travailed with everlasting Venetian layers to penance dissidents of defenestration. _

_Demure, docile dreg of the feminal heap, dispelled to coffin varnish. _  
By frumpy raiments, I defy dress to bait crustaceans.

_I am neither here nor there, or anywhere to despair. _

_I must hasten pace in this peregrination.  
_

_There is appetence to anatomise._

* * *

_If only Thomas were still conscious..._

* * *

**[Unknown date/time]**

_Étranger de spirit._

_Étranger d’amour._

_Exhibited obscenely through a fifth story pane to boudoir, snorting lines of yeast crumb, left to rash upon the rotting Sheraton. Madame’s armoire soleil, bestowed as sobriquet by strumpet ladies-in-waiting._

_Sordid, slattern, sloven._

_Scurvy rodents._

_Bear witness to them. To the heepish fruits they soil, burrowing above to make bare and barren root to depraved patrons. Sequestered constants operating to an equality of humanity. Those labile babes sacrificed the soft, innocent skin of their knees to pay deference. Despite this surprisingly pleasant admission of sovereignty, the veiled countenance pays no mind._

_The Pope kneels before his lord like famished sodomy bowing before the hem of Jehovah’s garment, stiffened in upright fœtal position, elongated neck craning upwards in such a way as to make prominent this concerning strain of veins pulsating against rouged petrichor. _

_Three strides lark to the height deficient man. His prism bleeds and beckons; jilted, the colours sway._

_Wicked simper, sibilating._

_Collapsed to plaint._

_Resplendent faint._

_Leans he, to say…_

_ **“Quel est ton souhait aujourd’hui?”** _

* * *

** _To Xander Wilde:_ **

_I have considered all known possibilities, but you, alone, have tarried. No longer of use to me or my impetus. _

_The script has been revised. _

_The terminal, rebooted._

_The unit, recalibrated. _

_Our series of inner machinations is complete. _

_This absurd system is not one to be fought..._

_ **”Hello, brother.”** _

* * *

_ _

_But, embraced. _


End file.
